


I love you. I care for you.

by GroveGrocer



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Baz's childhood, Canon Compliant, Chaptered, Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Nightmares, Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Professor Baz, Why Baz is Like That, alcohol mention, animal death implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-01-23 18:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18555760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GroveGrocer/pseuds/GroveGrocer
Summary: He hasn’t said it.It’s been a year. A little over but nonetheless.Don’t people usually say it by now?Baz had been through a lot in a rather short lifetime. He'd steeled himself against it and built his walls. Suddenly he's nineteen years old and life with Simon Snow doesn't fit the picture he'd been painting himself for all those years. But the walls have grown over time and tearing them down won't be as easy as setting them up.Alternatively: A look into Baz's childhood and the resulting adult relationships





	1. The First Year

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> I just wanted to give credit to a few tumblr's whose headcanons I incorporated into this work. They are Sncwbaz, tainbocuailnge, carrybits, and you-slept-in-my-arms. Thank you guys for the inspiration!
> 
> By the way, tags will be added as chapters are. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

BAZ

He hasn’t said it.

It’s been a year. A little over but nonetheless.

Don’t people usually say it by now?

Is it different because they’re two boys? Doesn’t that usually mean things go faster? That’s just media nonsense isn’t it though?  
Baz exhaled softly into his mug of tea, focusing absently on the ripples sent through the water and wrapping his fingers more securely around the ceramic, letting the warmth seep into the bones of his fingers. He had been spending more nights in this manner than he cared to admit, sitting on the balcony with his knees pressed to his chest in the ugly, green plastic lawn chair Simon had brought home from a Normal store.

“Surely we’re above a chair made of plastic the width of saran wrap and the color of something long dead pulled out of a swamp.”

“Baz, c’mon, it’s a just a chair for the balcony. I know you like sitting out there now that we have one and anything else is gonna be too hard to clean if there’s a storm or something. Plus it was cheap.”

“Surely we can afford a real chair. Merlin and Morgana, Simon, what if people come over to look at the new apartment and see that? What about my family?”

“Does it matter?” Simon had huffed, his ears reddening. “It’s just a chair.”

Baz closed his eyes, recalling the disagreement that had ended up stretching on far longer than any discussion of a chair ought to. It was never just about a chair though, not at its base. Simon had slept on the couch that night.

Surely most people would have said it by now.

Any normal couple.

They had never been normal though.

Baz preferred winter if solely for the fact that the sun went down earlier and he was able to spend longer on the balcony in the evenings. Cold be damned, he liked watching the city shut down or wake up, depending on the day of the week, and it was a good indicator of when was the optimal time to hunt. Simon was always home to warm him after anyway.

Simon.

The best thing about winter was that the sun went down so early and gave him longer to sit on the balcony and think, to consider the day he’d had and reflect on everything that had come with it. The worst thing about winter was that it gave him more time alone with his thoughts on evenings like this when he knows he ought to just go inside and end the spiral; But, against what was likely his best self-interest, he didn’t move.

They had been dating for over a year and Simon hadn’t mentioned love. He’d never said he loved him. Never even began to.  
Baz knew, logically, that he did. They lived together for Merlin’s sake. They’d even tried living apart but decided against it. Of course he did.

Did he?

“Merlin, it’s cold out here, even for me.” The sliding door squeaked open stubbornly.

Baz didn’t turn, still staring absently at his mug, but a hand pushed his hair back and gently lifted his chin to see Simon smiling at him.

“Have I told you I like your hair long?”

That drew a slight smile out of Baz, who had seemingly just realized that the bitter cold was beginning to seep into his bones, even through his shirt, Simon’s sweater, and a thick blanket stolen from their couch. “Only every hour.”

“Well, I do.”

“I know.”

Simon shivered, “Seriously Baz, it’s cold out here, are you hunting tonight?” His hand hadn’t left Baz’s hair and even after a year, Baz’s skin tingled at the contact. “Cause if not, I’m sure we could come up with something to do inside where it’s warm.” He grinned, making Baz’s heart twist.

“I’m afraid pretending to watch a movie will have to wait,” Baz said, dryly, standing up and wrapping the blanket tighter around himself. “I was just about to leave before you interrupted my musing so rudely.” A lie, but he couldn’t take sitting next to Simon with his hot skin and blue eyes and curls and the inevitable stumble back to their room before the movie was halfway over. Not right now. It wasn’t fair to Simon. Baz turned quickly, going back inside and nearly sighing in relief as the heat hit him.

He almost missed Simon’s wounded expression.

Almost.

*********************************************************************************************************

SIMON

This definitely wasn’t the children’s home. Simon stood in the doorway, marveling at the room that he’d be occupying for the next seven years of his schooling. It was perhaps not bigger than any room he’d had before but the difference here was that there were only two beds, set in opposite corners of the room across from the doorway. The nightstands were what they were designed for and not a chair haphazardly holding four glasses of water and six pairs of small, boyish glasses. Simon’s backpack was sitting atop the bed against the wall furthest from the window, carefully set next to a Watford uniform. He rushed over to run his fingers along the purple and green blazer and gray trousers, not daring to believe they were his. A small piece of aged card stock informed him that he was to change into it before dinner. The sheets weren’t scratchy and the pillow was full.

He picked up his ratty, gray backpack - it had originally been black and looked out of place in the pristine room - and clutched it to his chest as he sat on the— his— bed. Simon wondered where his roommate was and if he would show up soon. When they had been pushed together by the Crucible, the other boy had seemed less than thrilled. Simon continued to sit for all of three seconds before darting to his feet, backpack thudding to the ground, and beelining for the window.

The room housed matching hardwood writing desks at the end of each bed, facing the wall, that looked as though they had been put there on Watford’s opening day and spelled clean every seven years to prevent the previous owners’ scribbles and spills from being viewed by its new temporary owner. Simon leaned against one under the window to get a better view out of it.

The window opened up to the moat surrounding the school. The school had a moat. A moat. In the distance beyond the _moat_ was a small figure will a herd of even smaller animals surrounding them. The rolling hills beyond the school made Simon feel as though he were in a film.

He leaned back away from the desk, putting his feet on the floor, and ran his fingers over the beautiful wood, marveling at the texture. A small skeleton key was placed in the lock at the middle of the desk and he gently touched it before unlocking it to lower the lid so gently that it could have been made of glass. Leaning against the cupboards in the back was a white envelope with Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch written on it in a swooping, cursive script written in black ink. Simon was so transfixed by the old piece of beautiful furniture and the concept that this would be his home for the next seven years he almost didn’t hear the door open.

“Never seen a desk before, Snow?”

Simon’s head snapped around to see his new roommate standing in the doorway, arms crossed and scowling. Simon’s smile faltered but he quickly tried to repair it.

“It’s just a really old one. It’s pretty. Have you seen the key?” Simon tried to hand him the key but was quickly swept aside as Baz entered the room properly.

“How eloquent. Do they not have keys where you’re from? Oh… I forgot. I guess the children’s home can’t afford them.” Baz paused halfway through the room, standing and reassuming his previous stance. “Going through my desk are we?”

Simon faltered, unsure of what to do or say in this situation, but stuttered out, “No! No, I just wanted to see inside the desk and they weren’t labeled on the outside but… uh… Sorry-” His apology was cut off by Baz snatching the key from his weakly outstretched hand and brushing him aside to go close and lock the desk once more before spinning back around.

“Listen, we need to have things set straight since manners obviously aren’t taught at the state penitentiary— I mean home.” Baz’s scowl had been replaced with a domineering smirk that made him seem more intimidating than any eleven year old had the right to be. “You will not touch my things.” Simon opened his mouth to tell Baz that of course he wasn’t going to go through his stuff without permission but he was quickly silenced. “You will not touch my desk or my bed. As a matter of fact, don’t even touch my closet door. Even better, don’t come on my side of the room.” Simon floundered for words but didn’t manage to do any better than stand with his mouth slightly open, struggling to form a syllable, with his hand still gently outstretched.

Simon had interacted with many unhappy children during his time in foster care and he found that often, the ones that were the cruelest often softened and revealed that they were deeply scared, sad, small children once shown the barest hint of affection. Simon liked being friendly and he liked making other people feel as though they had somewhere to turn, especially in such a harsh system, so he befriended many and helped them come out from behind their defensive barriers. Nonetheless, it was still a bit disarming to be shut down so quickly.

He shook his head a bit, retracting his hand, and put on a smile. “Of course I won’t go through your stuff. That’s not nice.” Baz’s smirk had dropped slightly but had been replaced with a cocked eyebrow. Simon felt himself falter under the harsh gaze but pressed on. “Do you want to get dinner with me once we put our uniforms on? That’s what the card says to do.”

“Hmmm… No, thank you. I’d like to make a good first impression and I can’t do that if I’m with someone who eats like a slob.” Simon opened his mouth to protest but Baz quickly cut him off again. “And don’t attempt to defend yourself, I saw you shoveling scones into your mouth earlier. There’s powdered sugar on your shirt.” Baz reached out a finger, gesturing at Simon’s t-shirt and fringe at the puff of white surrounding a small hole in the collar. “Perhaps I should take pity on you since you clearly have unresolved health issues seeing as you lack the glasses you must need to see I am already in my uniform.” Baz brushed past Simon to exit the room, pausing in the doorway once more. “I am going to dinner. If you would be so kind, refrain from acting like an overexcited golden retriever and do not speak to me if you see me.”

With that, Baz left, leaving Simon dumbfounded and feeling the first inkling of dread in his stomach.

*********************************************************************************************************

BAZ

Baz closed the door to the apartment as quietly as possible, cringing nonetheless when it clicked into place and reverberated through the room. Simon ought to be asleep by now. He’d better be asleep by now.

Baz only caught one half-hearted rat. This had been moments after he’d stepped into the alley behind the apartment block and he spent the next three hours meandering the streets of London, unsure if he wanted Snow to be awake when he got back.

He crept into their bedroom, pausing in the doorway to admire Simon asleep, hugging a pillow with his wings wrapped around it for good measure and curled up tight. The pillow filled in Baz’s side of the bed.

He undressed as quietly as possible, setting his alarm for six am and ignoring his phone insisting that it was two am. His class didn’t start till eight but Simon was always up before him and Baz was embarrassed to face him, not that those words would ever be spoken, so he decided to be gone before Simon would open his eyes. Dressed in Simon’s prospective college shirt and his own gray pajama bottoms, he carefully crawled into bed and laid facing Simon.

He should have said it by now.

He couldn’t say it himself now since obviously Simon was reluctant to. It would be embarrassing for both of them.

Simon pulled a familiar scowl in his sleep, muttering and clutching the pillow tighter. Baz swore he heard his name but he pushed the thought aside and prayed to the deities that Simon wouldn’t have a nightmare. Not tonight. Simon’s tail twitched and flicked around him anxiously, similar to a cat.

Was it because of him? Was he upsetting Simon so much that he was agitated, even in sleep? Of course he wouldn’t tell you he loves you, look what you do to him.

Baz forced himself to roll over and instead face the mirrored closet doors. He found himself staring into his own face and somehow that was more painful than looking at Simon so he pressed his face into his pillow and fell asleep to tears staining the pillowcase.

*********************************************************************************************************

SIMON

Simon felt himself sharply pull air into his lungs and snapped his eyes open wide, finding himself greeted by the papered wall as he breathed heavily for a moment before reality came back to him.

School. He was at Watford. Everything was ok.

His muscles complained at him and he made himself relax, closing his eyes again and holding the pillow clutched against his chest tighter, hoping against all odds that he’d be able to fall back asleep. Simon never remembered his dreams, only the strong feelings that came with them and tonight, as he closed his eyes, he felt the same overwhelming sadness and anxiety that had plagued him moments ago. Resigned to the fact that he would be spending the next three or so hours awake and alone until breakfast opened at six, he sat up slowly, mimicking the curled-up position he’d been laying in a few moments ago.

As Simon went to rub his eyes, he heard the door open and startled, his head snapping up as he strained to see in the moonlit room. “Baz? Why are you up?” He called softly, tense from the unexpected encounter in conjunction with the remnants of his nightmare.

“Why is that any of your business, Snow?” Baz sneered in response, standing in the middle of the room in a manner that reminded Simon of teenagers who had been caught sneaking out of the foster home. “I should ask you the same thing.”

Simon shrugged slightly and hugged the pillow tighter in an attempt to calm himself down. He guessed it wasn’t his business but he was feeling bad and wanted the reassurance of talking to another person. “I had a bad dream. Can I know?”

“Oh, do you need me to call the Mage to give you a kiss and tuck you back into bed and chase away the scary nightmares?” Baz mocked, crossing his arms. “And no, you may not.”

“Oh.” Simon stared at the pillow in his arms for a moment before looking back up at Baz and speaking softly again, “Where are you going?”

Baz opened his mouth to respond but faltered for a second before snapping back, “I thought I said it wasn’t any of your business. If you are so inclined to know, I was just coming back from the bathroom. I left about three minutes ago if you also wanted to jot that down in your journal.”

“Why are you in your uniform?”

They had been living together for about three months but he had yet to see Baz stop in his tracks in the way he did now. It was a good question, considering they had an ensuite bathroom. Baz started to say something but nothing came out. As painfully curious as he was, Simon decided not to push the issue since Baz obviously didn’t want to talk about it. That wouldn't exactly get Baz to warm up to him faster. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I know you like keeping your stuff secret.”

Baz didn’t respond, he just huffed, spun on his heel and marched into the bathroom.

Simon laid back down, too curious as to his roommates late night activities to remember why he couldn’t sleep.

Baz left the bathroom a few minutes later, dressed back in his fancy matching pajama set, and got back in bed, not saying anything to Simon.

Simon eventually rolled over to face the wall, deciding to give Baz some space. He obviously needed it judging by the way he was avoiding looking at him.

He fell back asleep wondering if he had imagined the slight lisp in Baz’s responses.


	2. Loneliness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Finals and vacation took me away from writing but I hope you guys like the next chapter.
> 
> edit: a few pronouns for clarification, thanks to Hannah for pointing that out!

BAZ

Do they honestly think I don’t notice? I’d have to be stupid - or blind and deaf - to not notice the way their conversations lull when I walk past. Contrary to popular belief, putting a hand over your mouth doesn’t stop me from hearing when you speak at regular volume about my family history. At least try to have some class about it and don’t stare me down as it happens. 

Baz sneered at another first-year girl as he walked through the courtyard from the football pitch, remembering her from arithmetic. She had asked a question so stupid, he couldn’t recall it. He must have erased it from memory to prevent the death of his own brain cells. She was sitting on the grass leaned into another girl, whispering as she stole covert glances at him. If her blonde, french braid was any tighter, her hair would be pulled clean from her scalp. Baz’s gaze didn’t falter as she glanced back at him, eyes widening at being caught. He scowled at her and she nervously looked back to her friend, muttering under her breath. He couldn’t even walk to lunch without this nonsense. 

The other students were afraid of him. It wasn’t difficult to discern.

“…mum died…”

“…no one knows what really happened…”

“…Pitch…”

“…vampires…”

“…Pitch…”

“…my dad told me…”

_“…Pitch…”_

Baz's name preceded him. That much he had expected, however, he hadn’t prepared for the result to be that the other students completely and utterly avoided him. They glanced away like nervous animals when they discovered Baz looking at them. They went quiet when he walked past. And forget about speaking to him. The only conversations he had were with his roommate and he wished quite frankly that he could nix those too. Snow still hadn’t let up on his obnoxious attempt at friendship. Didn’t he understand that a Pitch could never be roommates, never mind, friends with the Mage’s heir? Obviously not, he was thick as a brick wall. They say the Crucible doesn’t make mistakes but that clearly doesn’t hold up.

He was doing his best to not think about Snow at the moment. Their encounter the night before had shaken him severely. How could he be so stupid? What if Snow got suspicious and outed him to his precious Mage for sneaking around at night with a mouth full of fangs? No, this wasn’t his fault. Snow should have been asleep. He should have been more careful…

Baz shook his head lightly to clear the thoughts. He didn’t need to be thinking about that, he would only get worked up and a Pitch couldn’t appear fazed by anything.

He squared his shoulders and entered the great hall, ignoring the looks he received and grabbed one of the paper to-go boxes piled next to the plates and took a single sandwich. If Snow were here he’d eat the whole bloody plate, Baz thought with a scowl and turned to head back to Mummer’s to eat in private. He couldn’t eat every meal back in his room, people would get suspicious. They’d definitely notice since he was already under constant scrutiny. He couldn’t very well explain that he didn’t like to eat in front of people because his fangs would pop. Today, though, he allowed himself the privacy to recover from his scare with Snow. 

Baz had a hand on the door handle when he heard a boy yelling his name. 

“Pitch!”

Who would be so idiotic as to just throw around such a powerful name, Baz sneered as he turned. Ah. An idiot, obviously. 

Two boys from football tryouts were waving at him aggressively. Baz was embarrassed for them. What were their names? Dylan? Devan? They were beckoning him over. He vaguely remembered hearing the coach referring to them by their last names. They were from fairly well off families - not a bad political move, friendship with them - and weren’t terrible at football but probably shared a brain cell between the two of them. Maybe it was pity or maybe it was the fact that no one but Snow and his professors had spoken to him in three months but he turned and coolly walked over to the boys, sitting across from them. 

“We saw you at football tryouts, Basil, right? You’ve got a wicked kick.” One stuck his hand out at Baz. “Niall. That’s one’s Dev.” 

Baz opened his food, not responding for an appropriate amount of time before seemingly acknowledging Niall’s hand and shaking it. “My name is Baz…”  
________________________________

BAZ

“Baz! Basil!”

Baz scowled, straightening his shoulders and picking up his pace, not so fast that it was obvious he was running. A Pitch would never run from his problem. Just enough. 

“Basilton!”

There was a sharp clap on his shoulder. “Where ya goin’ mate? Why didn’t you come hang with us last night, we waited.” Dev was grinning at him. Niall materialized on his other side, a similar idiotic puppy smile on his face. 

Baz shrugged off the hand, as nice as the warmth was, and readjusted his backpack. He narrowed his eyes but didn’t break his stride, “I’m going to class obviously, although you wouldn’t know anything about that. And I had better things to do than whatever nonsense you were up to.”

“Oh c’mon, it’s our first year without The Curfew. It’s been two weeks and you keep telling us you’ll come to our room and then not showing! Let’s take advantage of seventh year.” Dev wheedled him, poking at Baz’s shoulder for emphasis. A sharp look halted his efforts. 

“What’s better than hanging out with us anyway?” Niall complained. 

“Why should I tell you? You’re not entitled to my personal schedule.”

“Baz,” Dev drew out the vowel petulantly, “We only have a few days till football starts up again and Coach runs us to the ground. We’re not gonna be able to hang late at night.”

“Pity.” 

Baz knew this would come the moment Dev and Niall saw him start of seventh year. The Curfew had been the only way he could keep his nightly rounds of the catacombs a secret. Students from first to sixth years were under a magical curfew that forced them into their rooms progressively later as they grew older. Baz had poured over his mother’s headmistress notes for months before his first day of school, furiously searching for a way around it. Luckily for him, she kept well documented notes of trouble former students got into, breaking Curfew included. Do you know where your children are had saved him on a nightly basis in allowing him to sneak out. Simon never had any reason to doubt, after all, why stay awake to make sure your nemesis is in bed all night when he’s physically not capable of leaving the room? However, The Curfew no longer applied once you began your seventh year and Baz needed a new excuse for being busy at night. He couldn’t very well amuse Dev and Niall, hunt, stare at Simon’s sleeping form, and get a decent night’s rest all in one go. 

He’d hoped the two would drop it once they got to Advanced Charms, but the idea had seized them like dogs furious for a walk. They were only silent long enough for the professor to begin and finish speaking. Baz purposefully sat next to a girl from their grade, one he’d seen at football, forcing Dev and Niall to sit at a different paired desk. She was clumsy with her elocution and wand work but it gave him time to think. 

The moment class was dismissed, they were on him again. “So, what’dya say Baz? Come to our dorm tonight? If you don’t show up, we’re coming to yours and dragging you out. We can, no Curfew after all.” Niall grinned and jabbed at Dev, both giggling as though a joke had been said. 

“As I said before, I’ve better things to do.” Baz packed quickly. Not quick enough to be obvious. Obviously. He briskly walked out of the room and headed in the direction of Mummers. 

“Like?” 

He didn’t want it to come to this. “I’m seeing someone.”

A gasp from the peanut gallery. Simultaneously, “You didn’t tell us?” “Who is it? A cheerleader?”

Of course they’d automatically assume it was a girl. Imagine how fast they’d shut up if it weren’t. They’d promptly die if they heard it was the bloody Chosen One. 

He shouldn’t think like that. He’ll sooner be the one dying than dating Simon bloody Snow. 

“Why should I tell you?” Baz raised an eyebrow, glancing to his side as Dev and Niall made rounds around him. 

“C’mon Baz, we’re your best mates!” “We’d tell you if it were one of us!” 

Relentless. “And why would I want to know if it were one of you?” 

“Why wouldn’t you?” “Oh, c’mon Baz it’s not like it’ll kill you to let your best mates in on what’s happening in your life.” Niall moved in front of Baz, forcing him to stop, and getting in his way each time Baz attempted to get around him. 

Baz scowled at him. If only the idiot actually knew it would kill Baz to let anyone know what was going on in his life. Vampire’s weren’t exactly giving tea and cake at their coming out. 

“Kate.” He dodged around Niall as the imbecile looked at each other, till shocked. Her elocution and wand work may have been clumsy, but Baz was roughly familiar with her from football. She played on the girl’s team and she made coy glances at him during scrimmage. Her family was well off and she was fairly attractive, for a girl. 

“You’re joking.” “So that’s what Basilton’s been doing these weeks! No shame mate, I would ditch you lot to do a girl too.” Dev looked faintly hurt at Niall’s statement but he quickly jumped back to grilling Baz. 

“So, how is she…” Dev wiggled his eyebrows. 

“Don’t be crass, you dolt.” Baz spat out, thanking every god above that he wasn’t capable of blushing. 

“Hey, can you blame me? My best mate beds Curvy Kate, I wanna hear about it!”

“Shame you won’t.” Baz sneered, rounding a corner and picking up his pace. They entered the lawn. Mummer’s was in sight. He could lose them and not have to be a part of this asinine - and embarrassing - conversation in just a couple meters. He didn’t want to have to throw Kate under the bus but he needed an excuse. 

Kate chose the wrong moment to be kicking a football around with two of her friends. Baz prayed to Merlin and Morgana they wouldn’t notice but naturally, Dev and Niall chose this moment and this moment only to be observant. 

They started to whoop and holler, Dev grabbing Baz and shaking his shoulder from behind. Kate looked up, missing the ball as it rolled past her. 

Baz’s eyes followed the ball, landing right in a bed of curly, bronze hair. He nearly froze, but regained composure enough to tear his eyes away from where Snow and some girl were handing the football back to Kate. What did he do to be cursed in this way?

Niall made a crude gesture and Baz felt his blood boil as his embarrassment skyrocketed, keenly aware that Snow was watching intently. He spun around, forcing Dev’s hands off of him. 

“ _Listen_ you will absolutely not be making a fool of me or this girl. Get it through your thick skulls that this is not something that you will be spreading around the entirety of Watford because while you may believe it to be ok, I was raised of finer things! And don’t doubt for a moment that I won’t spell your mouths permanently shut because we both know damn well what I am capable of!” 

That silenced and halted Dev and Niall as Baz spun back around and stalked off towards Mummers. He was in the doorway when Dev called after him, “Where’d you do it?”

Baz gave him a withering look that wiped the smiles off their faces and slammed the door, ignoring the faint melodic laughter coming from the beautiful boy splayed across the grass a meter away.  
______________________________________________________________

BAZ

Everything was going perfectly well until a bottle of alcohol was produced from Merlin knows where. Baz had been almost enjoying himself as the football team celebrated their first win of the season. Baz’s winning shot had left him as the star of the game and he didn’t want to admit that the sudden shock of admiration and praise he was receiving was almost a breath of air against the usual looks he received. By seventh year he was accustomed to the fear and regard brought on by his family name but the sneers from girls grades fourth to eighth were a new addition. He should have known better than to expect Dev and Niall to keep their mouths shut and his lie was exposed rather quickly. Information spread so quickly around Watford, Snow had come home hours after it began with a barrage of interrogation. As his lie came out, Snow only had more suspicion as to why Baz felt the need to lie. 

He didn’t want to admit that the seemingly never ending looks of disgust had begun to wear on him. Pitch’s weren’t fazed by others opinion of them. However, he couldn’t keep away the slight smile that had formed as the boys team lifted him off the ground, chanting his name. 

The alcohol presented a new problem. Curfew hours had struck one by one until only seventh and eighth years remained. 

“Has everyone got one?” A cheer rose from the six boys as they lifted varying colors of shot glasses. Baz was silent, a forced air of boredom on his face as he eyed the full shot glass in his hand. Giving him a halloween glass was seasonally appropriate but the bats grinning back at him were just cruel.  
He wouldn’t admit it, but Baz had never drank before, save a sip of champagne at Pitch family gatherings. The twist in his stomach urged that there was no way to react how he would react this this. People with well kept secrets generally ought not to lose themselves. He didn’t know which would bring about the worst reaction: him being a vampire, him being gay, or him being hopelessly, stupidly in love with The Chosen One. 

The boys all knocked back the alcohol, coughing and spluttering at the burn. Baz felt the deep seated yearn to have the freedom of the others but quickly shoved it down and swallowed hard, downing the vodka. He held a straight face through the burn and gave a weak smile as the others began to cheer again, ignoring the cocktail of loneliness and fear mixing in his stomach. 

Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he hadn't been able to go to the catacombs the night before due to his new lack of an excuse as to why he couldn’t hang out with Dev and Niall, but as the other boys began to grow red in the face and lose their inhibitions, Baz could only pretend to loosen up. On the bright side, there was no need to fear a self-sabotage of divulged secrets. Still, Baz wasn’t sure why this left him feeling detached to the party occuring around him. Not being able to get drunk was an enviable skill to possess but it didn’t feel that way as Baz slipped away unnoticed, the clock striking two in the morning. He needed to hunt but it was already so late that he found himself walking back to Mummers, hands deep in his pockets and reveling in the fact he didn’t have any other students to put on the charade for. Baz was no stranger to loneliness, but he found it an unwelcome acquaintance on nights like these. 

He opened the door to his dorm softly, unwilling to wake Simon. All he wanted to go to bed, he couldn’t face another interrogation at the moment. Unfortunately for Baz, he found the lights on with Simon sitting at his desk, looking awfully similar to what he imagined the mother he didn’t have would look like if she caught him sneaking home at two am. 

“You’re home late.”

Baz sighed, stripping off his jacket and tie and neatly putting them away. “You’re up late.” 

“You smell like alcohol.” 

Baz walked into his closet, beginning to change into his pajamas as he cursed every Watford founder that advocated for roommates. “Since when do you care what I smell like, Snow? Are you going to run to the Mage and tell on the football team for celebrating?” He exited the closet, scowling at Simon. 

“Are you drunk?” Simon had his own scowl to match. 

“Seriously, Snow? You think a couple shots are going to send me under? Why are you obsessed with the state of my mind, anyway?” Baz turned off the lights, getting in bed and praying this conversation was over. 

Simon stuttered out a lame, “I am not…” and got up to get in bed without pushing his chair back in. 

The room silent aside from the familiar sound of Simon shuffling in bed, the same aching loneliness came back with a vengeance and Baz found himself feeling hollow. Pitch’s didn’t get upset over being lonely. He needed to get over it. It’s not like power came with friends. Lackeys like Dev and Niall maybe but not friends. Baz blinked his eyes dry and tried instead to focus on the familiar sounds of the dorm room. Despite his exhaustion, sleep did not come until many hours after Simon’s breathing had slowed and evened.


	3. Food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the long wait in between chapters but this one is pretty long is make up for it. Hope you like it!
> 
> Warnings at the end!

BAZ

Baz had been in bed for what felt like months but was likely only a few weeks. He had what seemed like the worst flu of his entire life but seemed to have suddenly snapped out of it, unlike any illness he’d had before where recovery seemed to drag on. The adults around him spoke in hushed conversations, all but his father, who felt no need to shield realities from his young son. He’d learned that what he initially thought was tomato soup with medicine hidden in it, was in fact blood. He couldn’t seem to keep anything down but he assumed that was just the remnants of his illness. 

The doctor had eyed him nervously as his father spoke loudly and candidly about the attack, although Baz noticed that no mention of his mother was made. He had realized quickly that she had gone onto the list of things he wasn’t allowed to talk about. He thought of them as the Forbidden Subjects and made careful effort to not think about them. All the effort in the world couldn’t have prevented him from thinking about his mother. 

“There has not been any research done on vampirism nevermind the turning of a child. Nevertheless, he seems to be in good health for a child of his age. It seems the turning has been completed.” The doctor fiddled with his thumbs, deep in the pockets of his coat, as he spoke from the doorway. When Baz’s father didn’t respond, staring intently at his child, he cleared his throat nervously and continued. “We have already requested the maximum limit that would be reasonable for a blood transfusion of a child his age with the injuries we described. All efforts at feeding him regular food have ended in severe vomiting.”

“Why have you called me? I am a very busy man, Doctor Wilkov.” His father suddenly snapped, his piercing glare being turned on the physician. 

The doctor nearly jumped out of his skin but continued, “Yes, yes, of course, you are Mr. Pitch, I sincerely apologize. Well, you see, we’ve reached the end of the blood supply. And with the turning complete, I do not believe I can do anymore for him.” The doctor swallowed hard and Baz watched intently at the vein that popped in his neck as it jumped. 

Baz’s father was silent for a moment, turning his sight back onto Baz, who tried not to squirm under his sheets at the interrogating glare. Suddenly, his demeanor seemed to change as his shoulders relaxed and his father turned towards the physician with a smooth smile. The physician seemed to relax considerably, but Baz tensed, seeing a nerve jumping in his father's jaw. 

“Very well, Doctor Wilkov. In that case, we have no further need to hold you here.” His father had not turned fully towards the physician, seemingly including Baz in the conversation. Between the hospitable smile on his father’s face and manner he extended an arm towards the doctor, Baz felt more unnerved by the moment. Something was going to happen. Something bad was going to happen. “I will send your payment along through the mail or perhaps a courier. I will have your items packed from the guest room. In the meanwhile, I invite you to retire to the tea room. I have asked Miss Deidre to put on the kettle.” The physician gratefully clasped his father’s hand and shook it before turning to hurry down the hallway. 

His father’s unnerving demeanor dropped immediately the moment the physician had scurried away and he entered Baz’s room fully, finally leaving the doorway to sit on the chair that had remained by Baz’s bed for whoever was tasked with watching him through the night. 

“I do not want to hear you speaking of Doctor Wilkov after this moment. You may hear the public say that he perished on his way home and you will agree, saying that he was ill while he attended to you. We cannot have him going into the magickal world and telling the family secrets, can we?” His father’s face indicated that Baz was not to ask questions and so he didn’t. 

“No, sir.” Baz gave a small, tense nod. 

“How do you feel, Basilton?” His father was sitting in the soldier’s rest he always did, his back stick straight as he crossed an ankle over his knee. 

“Good, sir. When will I be able to get out of bed?” Baz wiggled a bit, moving to sit up as straight as possible to prove his health, pulling the blankets up with him to attempt to ward off the chill that never seemed to leave him. He dared not push the question, but he felt like he would burst out of his skin if he didn’t leave the bedroom. 

His father was quiet for a moment, watching his son. “Basilton, do you understand what your condition implies?” His face gave nothing away. 

While his father did not at all go out of his way to hide anything from Baz, it was clearly implied that no specifics should be spoken about what had been happening. All Baz knew was that he had had the worst flu in his life and now felt completely better, apart from the furious craving of blood and his inability to keep anything else down. While Baz knew this must be odd, he hadn’t thought significantly of it. He liked raw meat and how different was blood from that? “Yes sir, I had the flu and now I need to drink a lot of water.”

His father scowled. Uh-oh. Wrong answer. Baz wanted to hurry and backtrack his answer but he couldn’t figure out where he went wrong. He opened his mouth in an attempt to correct himself but couldn’t get a word out before his father spoke again. 

“Basilton, in the attack…” _your mother was killed in_ passed unspoken, “you were bitten by one of the… attackers.” Baz’s father sighed and his soldier’s charade seemed to drop for a split second as he ran his fingers through his dark, loosely curled hair. “Basilton, you were bitten by a vampire. You turned.” 

This was the first and only time those words would pass between his father’s lips. 

The words tumbled out before he could stop them. “But mum died because she was killing vampires! She would have killed…” _me_.  He felt his eyes fill with tears at the implication. His mother would have killed him if she knew. His mother. She was supposed to sing to him and kiss him goodnight. 

Baz realized very quickly he should have held his tongue as his father stood sharply, the heavy chair screeching back on the dark hardwood floor. Baz winced, quickly blinking away the tears so as to not upset his father more. 

“Do not speak of her and do not use that whingy tone with me. You are a Grimm-Pitch and you will act like it.” His father didn’t yell but the low, furiously calm tone he used was almost worse. His father spun on his heel, turning so quickly that Baz had the passing thought he didn’t want to look at his son, which only made his tears well up again. His mother would have wanted him dead and his father couldn’t even look at him. His father stopped in the doorway and without turning around, spoke in the same low tone, now calmer, “Are you hungry?”

In a small voice, Baz responded, “Yes, sir.” 

“Get dressed. Meet me at the entrance to the woods in five minutes. Wear your walking clothes. Do not be late.” And with that, he was gone. 

Baz jumped out of bed, his heart springing with the possibility that if his father wanted to go on a walk with him, perhaps a picnic, maybe he wasn’t as furious as he seemed. Baz just needed to be as good as possible. He would be. His mother may have hated him but his father wouldn’t. He couldn’t. As he hurriedly pulled on his hiking clothes, muscles stretching pleasantly for the first time in weeks, he mentally ran through the newest additions to the Forbidden Topics. 

His mother. 

Vampires. 

His condition. 

He could do that. He just needed to watch his mouth. No more outburst like earlier. With that, Baz hurried out of his room and headed for the woods. 

Baz seemed to make it to this destination in record time. He had hurried but he didn’t think he would move so fast. Maybe he was just imagining it after being in bed for so long. A moment later, He saw the tall, sturdy shape of his father walking towards him. 

“Sir, may I ask why you are not wearing walking clothes?” Baz looked up at his father, noting he hadn’t changed out of his dress pants and blazer. He always made sure Baz knew the importance of dressing for the occasion. 

“I did not change because I am not entering the woods today. You are.” His father clasped his hands behind his back. His previous anger seemed to have faded, but there was a look in his eyes that made Baz nervous. “I realize that I have never allowed you to do so previously, but you need to familiarize yourself with these woods and become comfortable in entering them alone. You will be doing so regularly from now on.”

His father paused, waiting for a response, so Baz nodded, despite the unease growing in his stomach. 

“Today, you will enter the woods and you will not return until you have killed an animal. You will bring it to me as proof. You will then drink the creature’s blood. Do not disappoint me, Basilton.” His tone was not cold, but it left no room for argument. 

Baz felt his throat growing tight. He couldn’t kill an animal. Not a harmless animal. His father’s imposing stare caused him to turn and start walking into the woods, despite the nausea growing in his stomach. 

It had been nearly four in the afternoon when Baz entered the woods, but twilight had drawn by the time he had calmed enough to seriously consider his objective. It was then he spotted a bunny. A lone rabbit, digging softly in the dirt. The nausea returned but Baz steeled himself and darted forward with the same impossible speed that had brought him to the woods. 

Baz sat and cried for what felt like hours after he finished, meandering half-heartedly back to where he knew his father was waiting. He could barely see the trail through his tears but he paused a few meters from the exit to calm himself and dry his eyes. He was being good and part of being good was not crying. 

His father hid the surprise on his face, but not before Baz noticed, not that he would mention it. He was grateful that his father wasn’t angry that night had nearly fallen. Silent, he carefully presented the rabbit to his father. 

“Part of your objective was the drink the creature’s blood.” His father broke the silence that had been ringing in Baz’s ears for hours. 

Baz couldn’t hold back the tears that began to flood his eyes once more and a sob ripped from his mouth. He had already killed the poor animal, he couldn’t bring himself to drink its blood. 

“Basilton, really! Stop this sniveling at once! It is just a rabbit, it’s life meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.” His father’s tone began as harsh but only grew colder as he spoke. Baz had heard him angry before, but he had never been yelled at before. Grimm-Pitches didn’t yell. Only now, his father’s voice began to crescendo. “How can you ever act as the heir to the Grimm-Pitch name when you become hung up over the life of something as worthless as a rabbit. What would your mother think?” 

Silence. 

His mother. His mother would want him dead. Dead. Like the rabbit that he killed.

Baz only sobbed harder and before he had time to think, a sharp crack resounded through the silent woods. Baz’s head snapped to the side as his hand flew up to hold his burning cheek. His father had hit him. His father never hit him. No one had ever hit him. 

His father seemed to realize what he had done at the same moment. A look of horror wafted across his face before being sharply suppressed. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. 

Baz dropped to his knees and suppressed the need to throw up as his body reacted to the dead animal by pushing out his fangs. Without letting himself think, he grabbed the animal and sunk his fangs into it, pushing away the involuntary feeling of satisfaction and satiation that finally filled him. 

His father quickly turned away from him and hurried away. He was already in the house by the time Baz looked up from the creature. His father gone and empty of tears, he cradled the animal to his chest and entered the shallow section of the woods, only a few feet in. Despite the growing darkness, he used his hands and small stones to dig a shallow hole in the ground, carefully placing the animal in it and burying it. He sat back on his heels when he finished, feeling empty and chilled to the bone as the cool night air combines with his sudden inability to produce body heat. Baz closed his eyes and brought up the mental image of the rabbit, murmuring a quiet thanks, before standing and turning back to the house. 

 

* * *

 

 

BAZ

The journal had been Simon’s idea. It had been roughly a year ago, they were still living in separate apartments, not that you’d know it from the amount of time they spent together. 

Baz woke up to a pounding at the door that nearly matched the one in his head. The first thing he registered was how horribly cold he was, even for him. He spent too many minutes trying to figure out what the noise was until he at last realized someone was at the door but he couldn’t will his body out of bed to go greet them. Every muscle ached and he couldn’t even find it in himself to be disgusted at the snot that had dripped from his nose onto the pillow while he slept. The pounding had stopped as Baz’s eyes slid shut of their own accord until he heard a soft “Baz?”

“Simon?” Baz blearily opened his eyes again, squinting against the light in the room. “Why were you knocking?”

“I forgot I had a key.” Simon replied sheepishly, “Sorry I came here without telling you first, you weren’t answering any of my texts this morning and I was worried since you’re usually up by nine at least...”

“What time is it?” He knew without looking that his phone screen would be too bright for his current state. 

“Three in the afternoon.”

Baz felt a shock of alarm that likely would have been more striking had he any energy to spare on actions that were not keeping his eyes open. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept past midday. Simon sat on the bed next to him and gently stroked Baz’s hair, something he normally loved but at the moment just caused his scalp to ache with the movement. The rustle of his duvet resulted in the same for the rest of his body. Nonetheless, Simon was a welcome space heater and Baz did his best to shuffle closer, pressing his cheek against Simon’s jean clad leg as the rest of his body began to shiver. 

“Are you sick, sweetheart?” A warm hand pressed against Baz’s forehead and he leaned into the touch. He would have found Simon’s worried expression to be endearing but his eyes had closed once more and he was focusing, instead, on how his pajamas were uncomfortably damp with sweat. “I didn’t think vampires could get sick.”

“Only sometimes…” Baz didn’t have it in him to explain that he only got sick once a year or so, but when he did he became completely and utterly incapacitated for multiple days as the human part of his body caught up with every illness his vampire side had avoided over the year. At least, that’s what Baz had always assumed. “Don’t have any medication… New house…” He mumbled, eyes closed and pressed against Simon’s leg. 

“If you’re alright with being alone for a bit, I can go get some.” 

Baz gave a small nod. He vaguely registered Simon pushing back his hair and kissing his forehead and was asleep completely when he stood and bid him a soft, “Be right back, love.”

Baz eventually woke to the sound of a rustling grocery bag and, feeling minutely better after the extra forty minutes of sleep, had pulled himself to a seated position and riffled through the plastic pharmacy bag. It had been filled to the brim with small packages of paracetamol, cough drops, and antihistamines along with other things such as anti-nausea pills, a small first aid kit, and neosporin. Baz raised an eyebrow and Simon, dropping himself to sit by Baz’s knees, grinned at him and explained that now they were prepared for anything. Baz smiled faintly at his use of ‘we’, looking back into the bag to hide it, and his fingers found a standard black composition notebook. 

“What’s this for?” Baz inquired, picking it up and flipping through the blank pages, finding something alluring about the clean paper waiting to be filled. 

Simon’s grin grew wider, “I saw those and I had an idea!” 

He looked so pleased, Baz decided not to interject with a snarky comment. 

“I thought since, you always say no one really knows anything about vampires and there’s no research on them, maybe you could start? You like research and maybe you could write things down whenever you notice that they’re a side effect of being a vampire? You could even start today with how you’re sick but you don’t get sick a lot? I was gonna get this one that had a little bat on it and it was black and said ‘I’m a sucker for you’ but I thought if you were to present it to Doctor Welbelove or something like that it’d be better if it were more official looking.” Simon rambled, a soft blush growing on his cheeks as he rationalized his purchase. 

Baz smiled back at him. A real smile. “Thank you, Simon.” 

They smiled at each other for a few minutes before Simon seemed to snap out of his trance and jumped up excitedly. “I’ll go get you something to take with the medicine. You lay back down. I’m taking care of you today!”

All Baz could do was agree. 

That journal had given way to two more within the year, as Baz settled into doing research on himself. Everything from illness to moods surrounding the moon cycles and how often he found he needed to drink were recorded in his neat cursive script. 

When Baz woke up, the first things he noticed were the sunlight streaming persistently through their nearly-blackout curtains and the smell of warm blood coming from his side table. His whole body ached and he sat up slowly, trying to get himself to come to. 

“Hey sweetheart, how are you feeling?” Simon had sat down on the edge of the bed, running a warm hand over Baz’s blanket covered leg. 

“Not exactly in tip top shape.” Baz mumbled, rubbing his eyes. 

“I assumed since you had the notebook out and slept past noon. Not exactly surprising with how hard you’ve been working yourself.” Simon smiled softly, comfortingly as Baz seemed to join the world of the living. 

“I woke up last night with a fever, wanted to record my temperature before I went back to sleep. What’s this for? I thought we didn’t have anything in the freezer.” Baz picked up the warm mug off the side table and inhaled the familiar scent, feeling his fangs pop out. His instincts told him to drink but he was still shy about doing so around Simon, even after all this time. 

“We didn’t but since you’ve been so busy with uni and you haven’t been out hunting in a while. I wanted to make it a little easier on you and bring you some. I know you want to space out butchers so I asked Penny to bring me some from her side of town since we just did Mr. Benson’s and I thought we could make an exception just this time.” Simon smiled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I remembered you wrote down the best way to warm it in the first notebook so I pulled it off the shelf. I’m not sure I did it right but-” 

“Simon, it’s perfect.” Baz forced himself out of his slightly stunned silence. There were so many things he wanted to say, the contrast of this treatment to everything he had experienced resulting in a deep pull of love in his chest that threatened to spill out of his eyes in the form of tears. All he could manage was,  “This is… incredibly sweet.” He was silent for a few minutes more, blinking quickly to stave away tears. “Did you by any chance ask what it’s from?”

“Pork, I’m fairly sure. I said it was for blood pudding. If you don’t want that, I also got a little cow’s and said I was doing some experimenting with a recipe. Said I was trying to recreate my granny’s so possibly expect me back to get more.” Simon grinned at his own cleverness. “Oh! Sorry I forget you don’t want me watching when you drink, I’ll go to the kitchen and make some soup for later. Unless you want something else?” He hopped up, turning back to face Baz from the doorway. 

“Soup is perfect.” Baz smiled, finally confident he wasn’t about to burst into hysterics. “Thank you.” 

Simon made a kissing noise and headed towards the kitchen. Baz looked back down at the mug, closing his eyes briefly and conjuring up the mental image of a pig. He murmured a soft thanks, feeling a phantom sting in his left cheek, and began to drink. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of a rabbits death (killing not described); Baz is slapped once as a small child


	4. Closure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone who has stuck through this fic with me! I've got another planned and I hope yall will enjoy that one when it comes out. This chapter is a lot more cheerful, I feel like I owe it to ya'll. Thanks again! I also wanted to note that while I did make Baz cry a lot in this, that's mainly because this fic focuses on big, emotional points in his life but please comment and tell me if you feel like I made him too waify! I wanna do my boy justice :,)

SIMON

They had been sitting on opposite ends of the couch, idly doing their own activities while a singing competition on TV acted as background music. Simon had grown used to Baz’s furious typing as he cracked the details on an ancient text, quickly followed by twenty minutes of silence with more rapid-fire key clicking trailing after. The sound had grown soothing. 

Simon whiled nights like these away playing games on a tablet. Everything from dating sims to Minecraft to the newest infuriating tapping game. He would have felt silly admitting it to anyone but the object held great significance to him. It was one of the first big items he’d been able to save up money for and have be his own. He hadn’t stepped foot in a care home in nearly two years but he often found he couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling of having to look out for himself in an every man for himself situation despite the fact that it was just him and Baz. The night he purchased the tablet, he found himself standing in front of their closet, poised to hide it underneath his stack of folded shirts before he realized what he was doing. 

He didn’t like to voice issues like those, left over from years in the care system, but he’d been getting better about communicating them with Baz. He’d been against therapy at first, particularly the joint sessions they sometimes attended, but he had to admit that despite his fears, they had made him more open and relaxed. 

Simon looked up from his game as the typing halted once more, smiling softly as he saw Baz staring faintly at the blank wall across from him. “Where’d you go?” He asked, watching fondly as Baz seemed to blink back to this plane of existence. 

“Mmmm. Nowhere.” Baz looked back down at his computer, placing his fingers on the keys but not moving them, clearly still in his own head. 

His blank expression was unreadable. Simon put aside his tablet and scooted across the couch to where Baz had sunk into the back of the couch. Baz looked at him sideways, a soft smile growing, and let Simon under the red blanket he’d wrapped himself. 

“You’ve been so distant lately. Is everything alright?” Simon leaned against Baz’s shoulder, loosely skimming the paper his boyfriend had been typing at for the past two hours. He found he understood all the words separately but not when they were together in the order they had been placed in. Simon decided to turn his attention back to Baz, who was rubbing at his eyes in the manner he did when he was stalling a conversation. 

Baz was quiet for a moment, hands settled back on the keyboard and eyes focused loosely on the document in front of him. “What do you think about me becoming a magikal researcher? Specifically in magikal diseases like vampirism?” He asked so tentatively, eyes still focused on his paper, that Simon almost felt like he was being asked permission. 

“Hey, that’s a great idea. You’ve always been interested in vampirism and you’d get to work with old languages since you’ll probably have to translate old documents talking about it. Maybe you could work at Watford one day like you’ve always talked about.” Simon smiled brightly at him, filled with a sudden rush of excitement at the prospect of them having a future together. He’d be dating a researcher. Probably marry him. They wouldn’t be teenagers struggling for survival anymore. The concept was dizzying. 

Baz smiled slightly but still seemed to hold reservation, still not having looked at Simon. His face was still uncomfortably blank. 

“Are you alright?” Simon asked again, not wanting to prod but desperately wanting to be let into his boyfriend's mind. He’d been so distant for what felt like months but likely was only a few weeks. Simon had ascribed it to worry over an essay he’d been frantic over finishing in time, despite the due date being weeks away. The essay was due last week and Baz’s demeanor hadn’t changed if anything growing more isolated. 

Baz didn’t reply. All Simon wanted was for Baz to look at him but he didn’t want to intrude. He gently ran his knuckle along the side of Baz’s chin he was sitting opposite from, encouraging him to turn his head. 

Baz took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them and looking towards Simon. His poker face held but there was a worry behind his eyes that made Simon’s stomach clench. He held Simon’s gaze for a moment before speaking in a more firm voice than before, words spilling out as rapidly as his typing, “Do you want me to move out? I have some money saved up and I could live in a dorm at school so you don’t need to worry about that. I just want to hear your opinion and you don’t need to spare my feelings I can take-” 

Simon cut him off, unable to listen to Baz’s anxiety rapidly spilling into his words. “Baz why would I ever want you to move out? We just got this apartment and I’ve never been happier.” He stared at Baz’s face as his poker face began to crack, revealing an overwhelmed expression. 

Suddenly, Simon’s stomach seemed to fall further than he previously thought possible, “Wait. Baz do you not want to live together anymore?”

Baz’s eyebrows shot up in a manner Simon had never seen before, emotions plain on his face as he seemed to forget to hide them away. “No! No. No, I don’t. Not at all.” He opened his mouth as if to say something more but seemed to scramble for words. 

Simon desperately wanted to ask the hundred questions rapidly forming in his mind but decided to be silent and let Baz explain himself. He was obviously desperate to do so but couldn’t find the words for it. 

Baz opened and closed his mouth a few times, nervously looking back to his computer, at the wall, at the tv, back to Simon. He took a breath and closed his eyes, “I feel like you don’t want me anymore and that maybe you think this was a mistake because you don’t love me.” 

Simon stared at Baz open-mouthed, completely heartbroken. When Baz opened his eyes, nerves plain on his face, Simon replied, as much emotion as he could muster pushed into his words in the hope that Baz would understand just how <i> wrong </i> he was. “Baz, I love you so much it terrifies me. I’ve never felt so strongly about anyone and before you say it no, not even the Humdrum. Dating you and moving in with you was the best decision I’ve ever made and I thank every god above every day that our relationship turned in the way it did. I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone else and I don’t want to. What would make you think that I don’t love you?” 

He saw Baz’s eyes shine as he was firmly grabbed and pulled into a tight embrace. Simon immediately wrapped his arms around him, one hand around his middle and the other stroking his hair. Baz seemed to be too overwhelmed to speak so Simon just kept talking about all the emotion he was realizing he had never spoken out loud. 

Finally, Baz pulled back enough to look at Simon and with a shaky breath said, “You’d never said it and I thought that most couples would have said it by now. I thought you were doing it on purpose.” 

He looked so uncharacteristically vulnerable that Simon pulled him back into a gentle hug. “I’m so sorry I made you feel that way. I guess I just never heard it growing up and I never had any reason to say it. It’s not something I consciously thought about. Of course, I love you. How long have you been worrying about this?” 

Baz pushed his computer aside and turned his body so his legs were draped over Simon’s, resting his forehead against Simon’s, relief obvious in every muscle. “A month.”

Simon was wracked with guilt. _A month?_ He’d felt like this for _a month_ just because Simon didn’t think to express an emotion that he thought had been clear. Here he thought he had been making so much progress and not letting his childhood affect his adult relationships but clearly not.  

“I’m so sorry. I should have known it wasn’t just your essay. I’m the worst boyfriend. I should have gotten out of my head and thought about how you were feeling.” Simon watched Baz’s face closely, face crumpled with guilt. 

“You’re not the worst boyfriend, stop saying that. I should have asked you earlier. You can’t read my mind.” Baz and Simon both smiled lightly as they seemed to realize at the same moment that they were parroting phrases from therapy. 

“I guess I’m just not used to emotions being spoken. I’ve always seen them as being expressed in things you do.” Simon laughed softly at himself, guilt starting to abate. 

“I should have seen that. You do so much for me.”

They were both quiet for a moment, just looking at each other before Simon had an idea. “Hey, Let’s make a pact to communicate more. No hiding feelings from each other. If you feel bad, you talk to the other person about it no matter how much you’re afraid they’ll react badly.” 

Baz smiled, a real smile. “Alright.”

Simon leaned forward and gave him a slow, sweet kiss. “Have to sign it somehow and I think we’re past pinkie promises.” 

Baz could only laugh, pulling Simon closer as his whole body seemed to fill with relief. 

 

* * *

 

BAZ

Baz took a deep breath and exhaled shakily as his students began to filter into the room, taking seats as they chattered about what was for dinner that night, how ridiculous one professor's essay parameters were, how yesterday’s football game had gone. He overheard more than a few murmuring excitedly about today’s lesson, curiosity plain in their voice. 

He sat at his desk, forcing himself to relax so that the students wouldn’t be upset by his demeanor. He busied himself by straightening his papers that didn’t have a page out of place. Baz looked at the travel mug that was sitting on a repurposed wax melt stand, keeping the mug warm. This was a terrible idea, how could he have been so stupid as to do this. The student’s looked up to him and he was about to throw away forty years of hard work at this school for what? 

Baz took another breath. Tolerance. This was for tolerance so that no one ever had to feel as hidden as he did. He forced himself not to straighten his straight tie. He wasn’t about to fiddle. Grimm-Pitch’s didn’t fiddle. Grimm-Pitch-Snow, he thought with a grace of a smile, as the clock struck two p.m. 

“Alright, settle down.” Baz stood from his desk, pushing the chair back in, as he slowly maneuvered around the desk. He couldn’t excuse his mannerisms as waiting for the class to quiet down. They were all looking forward with anticipation. Twenty-four sixteen-year-olds stared at him as he settled at the front of the class. He normally felt at ease in front of a crowd but the eyes only made him want to hide.

“Sir, is Mr. Petty here? It’s Thursday after all.” One student piped up from the back. 

“Patience, James. I promise I have not let you down but you’ll need to give me a moment to explain.” Baz replied easily. 

This was the moment he had waited forty years for. He had begun this job with the purpose of educating Watford’s students about magikal creatures and species. Baz had become a favorite among students because of his lesson’s inclusion of living examples. He explained at the beginning of every year that the purpose of this class was to demonstrate that the creatures and species that they discussed in class were not thoughtless stereotypes that were only there to stand in the way and cause harm. Everything had a purpose. Baz took special care to bring in an example for every creature they studied, within reason of course. Student’s were allowed to ask questions of the verbal species and Baz, with the permission of their guest, allowed them to ask questions to their heart’s content. Nothing was off limits for the purpose of learning tolerance and that these guests were not the horror stories their parents warned them about. 

Nicodemus had always come to class for the students to ask as many questions about vampires as they could and it was their first so-called dangerous creature. Baz could always see the concern on the student’s faces when the session started and their relief and curiosity as it finished. They always left looking as though Baz had opened a door they had never seen before. 

“I realize that this will be shocking and you will be disappointed, but I am sorry to say that you will not be meeting Mr. Petty today. However, we still have a guest today.” Baz took a breath, straightening slightly and forcing himself to relax. He was silent for a moment as he waited for the protests of his students to abate. Everyone looked forward to meeting Nicodemus and living the stories that they had been told by parents and older siblings. 

“So who are we meeting?” James piped up again. 

Baz gave a small smile. “Today, I am the guest.” He wasn’t sure what he had expected from his class, but it wasn’t complete dead silence. Baz cleared throat and continued, “I understand this is a shocking revelation but yes, I am a vampire.” The confession left him feeling breathless. 

Twenty four students stared at him with varying expressions. 

Baz forced the nerves down and continued, “You all know the rules and they are no different today. Who has the first question?”

Immediately, the room was filled with hands. Baz called on a student from the front, one he generally regarded as having respectful and thoughtful questions. 

“Does everyone know that you’re a vampire, sir?”

Relief began to drip into his system. Everything was ok. This was ok. “No. My previous classes met with Nicodemus for a reason. The only people outside this room who know are my partner, my family, Headmistress Bunce, and some of the staff.” He finished with a shaky breath. “Next?” Immediately, all hands were in the air once more. 

“Why didn’t you tell your classes before us?”

“I was afraid. Afraid to lose my job and become an outcast. I worked for my entire life to prevent my secret from entering the general public.”

“Why did you choose to tell us?”

“Times have changed since I was turned as a boy. I’m certain you are all familiar in the manner this happened. You have all heard the stories of my mother and I’m sure you can put two and two together. I took this job with the purpose of teaching tolerance to my students. I have taught almost five generations of Watford students, including many of your parents. My hope was that my teaching them would lead to a tolerance that grew in the community and would be passed to the next generation with the plan that eventually I would do this.”

A few more questions came and went, with more relief flooding into Baz with each calm, curious question, before he said, with a laugh, “I will remind everyone that this class is titled ‘An exploration in magikal beings’ and not ‘an Exploration of Professor Grimm Pitch.’ Does anyone have any questions about vampirism? I promise I will stay after class and you may ask me more personal questions and I’d be happy to respond to any more at any time throughout the semester.”

With that, they began to filter through the usual questions Baz had come to expect with this unit. Do vampires get sick, what’s it like to drink blood, can we see your fangs, etc. The class ran far more smoothly than he had dared to hope and, as the final student’s filtered out, he felt his legs go nearly boneless with relief. 

Baz sunk into his chair when he heard a student, James, tentatively call his name. He looked up, “Yes, what is it, James?”

“I just wanted to say thank you for telling us everything you did today. It was really brave of you and I’m glad you trust us.” The boy smiled at him with such truth that Baz felt it in his heart.

“It was my pleasure. I thank you all greatly in return for the respect you showed me.”

“See you tomorrow, Professor!” 

Baz couldn’t help but smile. 

  
  



End file.
